Lipstick is a Form of Torture
by xCaligula
Summary: <html><head></head>All her life, lipstick has had different meanings to her, but never has she considered what she knows now. Harley Quinn-centric.</html>


**A/N: Got this idea after recently realizing that any time I wear lipstick, my fiance will inevitably end up with it on too, and it reminded me of the time we cosplayed them and had to keep our lips to ourselves. It all kind of evolved from there.**

Harley has become convinced that lipstick is a form of torture.

Oh, there was once a time when she loved it, and she still has a fondness for it now, but she has learned very quickly just how torturous it can be.

Harleen Quinzel's relationship with lipstick began when she was in the seventh grade, when her school first began allowing the students to wear makeup. Her fondness for the color red led her to choose a very bright, cherry red, that she wore with pride daily. Until, that is, her mother "kindly informed" her that it was tacky, and gave her a much more muted shade that was closer to brown than red.

She kept up wearing it throughout the remainder of junior high, and well into high school, though occasionally when she was going out, she would secretly put on her favorite bright red as soon as she was out of the house. No matter what her mother said, she still thought it complimented her baby blue eyes and pale skin perfectly.

She took it up full time again once she had the freedom of living on her own during college, but this didn't last long. She soon began to take on a more professional appearance, desperate to prove that, despite getting in on a gymnastics scholarship, she was a dedicated and serious psychology student.

She stuck with this plain lipstick long after graduation day, as she worked her way up in the world of psychology; she wore it during interviews, she wore it the day she was accepted onto staff at Arkham, she wore it the stay she started there, and she was wearing it when she met _him_.

The instant they made eye contact, she felt something spark in her, but of course attributed it to a mixture of fear and fascination at being in the presence of the most famed and feared criminals of her time. And then her eyes traveled down.

As soon as she laid eyes on those bright red lips, it all came back to her. The memories of that first beloved tube of lipstick, the hidden disappointment when her mother told her that she shouldn't be wearing it, the nervous excitement of sneaking it on, the difficult decision to put it away for good...it all came crashing down on her, and though it seemed almost silly that she got such feeling from lip color alone, it was impossible to deny it. This was, perhaps, the first thing that really drew her to him.

Before she knew it, she had fallen hopelessly in love, and realized that her true calling was to be his, to serve him as needed, and to be with him forever. For this, she would have to save him from his cruel captors, and for that she would have to become somebody new.

She decided to adopt and embrace the name he had suggested for her once- Harley Quinn- as her new self. With her new name would come a new look, and a harlequin jester costume was the obvious choice, but what wasn't obvious was the makeup. Sure, she would paint her face white, but what to do with lipstick?

For a long while, she thought about her favorite cherry red. It would match her costume well, and had been her favorite color throughout most of her life (she had recently developed an affinity for green, however). Most of all, it was _his_ color of choice, and that seemed to prove, once and for all, just how much they had in common, just how meant-to-be they were.

But then again...he didn't know about her past with red lipstick. He didn't ask, and even if she told him, she doubted he would remember. He had so many more important things to worry about. All it would look like to him, and everyone else, was just some pathetic attempt to copy him on her part, and that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to be his lover, not his clone.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but she didn't want to flatter him, she wanted to prove herself to him, and for that, she had to be something new.

That left only one other option: black. It was the only other color that came with her costume, and it could be symbolic to her too. Red was fun, and so was he, but her days of being carefree had ended with the beginning of her career, and though he still brought fun into her life, her overall role was different now. She was to be hardened and strong, able to defend herself and dutifully serve her love. Black was the ideal color for that.

For a while, it seemed to be the best decision, but Harley learned the hard way that perhaps it would have been better to be deemed a copycat. All her life, lipstick has had different meanings to her: fun and freedom, growing up and keeping secrets, seriousness and professionalism, nostalgia and romance, and, finally, something with the capacity to transform someone, but never had she considered what she knows now.

When you're with someone whose determined to keep the perfect smile and you both wear different colors, kissing is not allowed. And to a young woman in love, that is simply torturous.

**A/N: Finally, my first fic for my OTP. Super proud of myself for finishing this one, though I feel like I could have done a better ending. Oh well, here it is.**


End file.
